"Hey… is this really the last time I can come over?"
Haru's voice hung in the thick kitchen air, caught between the heat, the smell of spices, and the steady crackling of the pan. Her question didn't get an immediate answer. Dylan took a few seconds before responding.
While she cooked absentmindedly, he shifted his gaze to his right arm, bare under his sleeveless shirt. He slowly raised it, curling and uncurling his fist, watching the muscles shift beneath his skin and the veins trace their familiar paths with each movement.
Then he pressed a hand to his chest and abdomen. The firmness he found no longer felt excessive or uncomfortable like it had at first—it was now a tangible result of his effort. Ever since he'd started training back in July, his body had changed.
He didn't have an athlete's build, let alone a bodybuilder's, but it had definitely improved. The heaviness of those first days had disappeared, as had the old joint pains he hadn't even realized he'd gotten used to. His body felt quicker, stronger, more useful.
But he wasn't the only one who had changed.
Haru had improved too, though her growth was less obvious. She was no longer the clumsy, naive girl who didn't even know how to hold a knife without risking her fingers. Her personality was still the same—intense, playful, a bit dramatic—but she had matured in the little things, in everyday gestures that often went unnoticed.
Thanks to his guidance, she'd learned to cook, sure, but also to clean, to wash clothes, to organize her space, to get ready to go out on her own. She'd even picked up a bit of self-defense. And while some might think he'd taken advantage of her willingness to turn her into some sort of housemaid, the truth was all of that had helped her grow.
It wasn't a dramatic transformation—but it was real. And that was enough for Dylan to feel a flicker of pride.
Still, none of that changed what was coming. So in response to her question, he just gave a quiet nod.
A few weeks back, during some random conversation, he'd made the mistake of telling her that after Christmas, they wouldn't be able to see each other like before. He'd said it without thinking, just to encourage her to make the most of the time they had left. But Haru had taken it seriously—way more than he expected. And when she started pressing for details, he'd been forced to make something up on the spot.
He told her that after the holidays, he'd start job hunting. That his savings were running low, that his health was back to normal, and that it was time to move on. That between paperwork, interviews, and visiting family, he wouldn't have time to see her like he used to.
All lies.
By now, he didn't even care whether Haru believed the whole "Transfer" thing or not. Dylan knew he could explain it to her if he really wanted to. But telling her the truth wouldn't help her—it would just scare her… or worse, push her into doing something reckless.
And even if he didn't mind altering the future he remembered—since it was never some outcome he felt obliged to protect, and besides, that world didn't offer any magical solutions or game-like shortcuts (no legendary weapons waiting to be found, no ancient books granting power)—he still didn't want Haru to start her journey on the wrong foot.
From what he remembered, she was supposed to survive. Probably, she'd go through a lot, but eventually, she'd make it. She'd live for many years. But if things went wrong too early… that outcome could change.
If that happened, it'd be on him.
That's why he lied. That's why he gave her a version of the future that would never happen.
But now, watching her with her head down, that flicker of disappointment in her eyes, his resolve started to waver.
Yes, the collapse of their world was near. Life as they knew it was about to break all over again. And even though he knew Haru's sadness was just a tiny ripple compared to what was coming—he still couldn't help it.
He lied again.
"Well... don't worry so much," he finally said, ruffling his hair with one hand. "Even if I have a lot to do during the week, we could still see each other now and then. Maybe not like before, but… Sundays could work."
Haru stopped what she was doing. She stood still, head down, eyes fixed on the cutting board. After a few seconds, she turned slightly, just enough to glance at him out of the corner of her eye, as if needing to confirm she'd heard right.
When she saw she hadn't imagined it, she lit up just a little.
"Oh, come on," she said, raising her voice. "Why didn't you start with that? The way you said it, I thought this really was goodbye. Like, final goodbye."
Her tone sounded annoyed, but her expression didn't quite match. There was relief in her eyes, relief she was trying to hide behind poorly acted irritation. Ever since she'd started visiting him almost daily, her old hobbies just didn't entertain her the same way. Coming to that neighborhood—so far removed from the comfortable world she used to know—had become part of her routine. An important part.
Not that she'd admit it out loud.
She turned toward Dylan and raised the knife still in her hand, pointing it at him in an exaggerated gesture. It was impulsive, almost theatrical, which did little to hide the smile creeping onto her face. A strange mix of embarrassment and joy, but not exactly a cute scene.
The contrast was too much. The raised knife, the blood-splattered apron, that ambiguous expression… it all painted a slightly unsettling picture. So much so that even Dylan—who had seen truly horrific things—felt a small chill run down his spine.
'Okay, gotta admit... she's kinda terrifying,' he thought, taking a step back.
It was just then, the front door burst open, followed by a loud, cheerful voice.
"Hey hey, lucky people! I'm back! How are the lovebirds?! Miss me?! Don't tell me you started the party without—!"
The one at the door was Roberto. He was loaded with grocery bags, wearing the same obnoxiously festive Christmas shirt he'd worn that morning. He stood there like he owned the place, brimming with the kind of energy that assumes everyone's been waiting for him.
But when he reached the threshold and saw into the kitchen—he stopped dead.
From the other side of the bar that separated the living room from the cooking area, he saw Haru pointing a knife at Dylan with a timid grin, while Dylan stood with a frown and back pressed to the wall, like he'd been cornered.
"…I didn't see anything," Roberto muttered at once, lowering the bags to the floor. Then, without turning all the way around, he slowly backed out and shut the door with exaggerated care, trying not to make a sound.
Not that it mattered. Dylan and Haru had clocked him the second he stepped inside. So they watched his retreat in silence.
After that, both of them glanced toward the window—just in time to catch the twitch of a curtain. Roberto hadn't gone far. He was just clumsily hiding, peeking in shamelessly from the outside, probably looking for confirmation of whatever wild idea he'd just cooked up.
Suddenly, they both sighed at the same time, as if this misunderstanding wasn't just awkward—it was inevitable. It wasn't that they really minded Roberto thinking something was going on between them. What wore them down was his persistence. He'd been trying to play matchmaker for a while now.
And now, he had fresh fuel for his fantasies.
With nothing else to do, Haru lowered the knife and went back to what she was doing. Dylan, meanwhile, stepped away from the wall, walked past her, and headed down the hall toward his room—he needed to grab his wallet. Now that Roberto was back, he might as well rope him into helping with dinner.
But he didn't get far before something made him stop.
"Shit…"
The curse came from behind—sharp, unexpected. It wasn't like her to talk like that. He blinked, surprised... but before he could say anything, her laughter rang out—clear, honest, echoing off the walls with contagious joy.
And just like that, he smiled too.
Looked like he'd managed to cheer her up after all.